


Table for Two

by enigmaticblue



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-30
Updated: 2010-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-08 12:53:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley tries to do something nice for Cordelia. Set early in S2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Table for Two

“If you burn my apartment down, I’m going to kick your ass!”

Wesley winced, eyeing the gravy with some apprehension. He had no idea if he was doing this right; his mother had been able to cook a full English dinner without turning a hair, but he couldn’t very well call her for directions.

He might, after all, get his father on the line, and Wesley had no desire to talk to him after what had happened with the Council’s wet works team last spring. There was sure to be a lecture.

The wooden spoon in the gravy began moving of its own accord, and Wesley breathed a sigh of relief. “Please tell me you know something about cooking, Dennis,” he murmured, hoping that his voice was quiet enough to prevent Cordelia from hearing him. He’d promised her a real English dinner, and after she’d expressed her doubts in his abilities in the kitchen, Wesley wasn’t about to fail.

The spoon did a little twirl, and Wesley decided to take that as a yes. The roast had been easy enough to get into the oven, and he hadn’t seen any smoke yet, so that ought to be fine.

In theory.

Of course, in theory he was a very good cook; it was just that he hadn’t had much practical experience.

The saltshaker rose, and Wesley could see the brief rain of seasonings. He was glad the ghost had remembered, because he’d completely forgotten the salt and pepper.

“How’s it going?” Cordelia asked, sticking her head into the kitchen.

Wesley put himself in between the doorway and the stove, so she wouldn’t see the floating spoon, or anything else. “Fine. I thought you were supposed to be relaxing.”

“I didn’t see any smoke, so I was getting worried.”

“Very funny,” Wesley replied dryly. “I told you that I’m perfectly capable in the kitchen.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Is that why Dennis is helping you?”

Wesley wasn’t terribly surprised that she’d noticed. This was Cordelia. She always noticed.

“Dennis is lending an extra hand. Er, assistance. Sorry, Dennis.” Wesley was never quite sure how to address the ghost, but it seemed impolite _not_ to recognize him, particularly after he’d been so helpful.

Cordelia didn’t move from her station by the door. “You still haven’t told me why you insisted on making dinner tonight.”

“No reason,” Wesley said, keeping his tone light.

She didn’t look convinced. “You always have a reason.”

He hesitated. Their friendship was on solid ground, although they still fought regularly. The truth was that he admired her. After everything she’d been through with the visions, and the difficult time she’d been having recently, Wesley had wanted to do something nice.

A full English spread represented the ultimate in comfort for him, but Wesley wondered if he’d overreached.

“I simply thought that it might be nice to have dinner together, and neither of us have much money, so—”

“So you thought you’d cook?”

Wesley couldn’t read her expression. “Well…”

“Thank you.”

It was said simply, and with real gratitude, and Wesley knew that she somehow understood how very important this was. How important their friendship was.

These days, with Angel so distracted all the time, it often felt as if it was the two of them together—with the occasional addition of Gunn. Wesley still wasn’t sure what he thought of the street-wise gang leader, however.

“You’re welcome.” The timer went off, startling both of them, and Wesley turned towards the oven. “Go sit down. I’ll take care of the rest of this.”

He saw her smile over his shoulder, more brightly than she had for a while, and he knew he’d done the right thing.

No matter how the roast turned out.


End file.
